Swim, Altair!
by Isir
Summary: His wet clothes clung to his body. Little droplets from his cloth softly tapped the ground in a symmetric pace. His hood obscured most of his face.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters of the franchise Assassin's Creed. They belong to Ubisoft. All original characters and situations are fictional. Resemblances to real persons or events are coincidental.

Also, I am not a native English speaker, so please bear with the grammar and spelling errors.

A/N: There's a lot discussion going on about Altair and swimming. I read somewhere that it was an Animus glitch and that at that time, Altair did not swim. So that would be the reason why Desmond disconnected after falling into water. Anyway, for a master assassin not being able to swim did not make sense to me. So I gave him swimming skills!

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**Swim, Altair!**

Part 1 of 2

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The breeze of the wind brushed softly past his hood.

He was on the highest tower of all Damascus. Crouched on the wooden ledges that formed a Christian cross on top of the building which easily reached the height of fifty meters. His form stayed unmoving. Not even a hint of fear for the immense height.

He scanned the amazing sight beneath him.

There was something happening at the shore. A woman was behaving in a distressed manner. She was agitated. The cause was a still form in the lake. Her panic had gathered a small group of people. Some just watched, unmoving, while others joined the woman in her anxiety and doddered around.

The lake was located at least ten meters under the shore and met with a rough edge of rocks. No one dove into the water.

The hooded man flexed his muscles, leaned forward, one foot slowly coming off the surface; he darted himself off the ledge. Gravity pulled him down fast. His arms spread and he endured the strong pressure that came unto him. This fall barely took four seconds, but the sensation was vivid and strong. The adrenaline rushed through his system. For a lesser assassin could die if he were to land wrongly. But not him.

He was swallowed into a thick pile of hay. Two seconds was all he needed to adjust after the impact. He jumped out of the stack and roughly brushed the dried, cut grass off his clothes. He started to sprint.

"Oh please!" he heard the woman wail. "Someone save my child!"

"_That poor child…" _

"_He's never going to make it."_

"_He already stopped moving!"_

The man leaped off the shore. The water sucked him in, but he kicked himself to the surface quickly. His soaked robe clung heavily to his form, but he could not be bothered as he swam towards to still, but intense body of the child.

The child desperately tried to catch some breath, but the waves washed over him and did not give him sufficient time to do so. His arms trashed downwards into the water, a reflex to keep his head above the water. Suddenly he felt a strong arm wrap around his chest pull him up. The child seized this chance to get as much oxygen in his lungs as possible. He heaved and coughed. The arm pulled him against a chest and they moved towards the rocks.

The child, now identified as a boy, started to cry in shock. Long, exhausted wheezing and breathing.

The man did not say anything. He squinted his eyes as the clear water of the lake splashed into his face in waves. As soon as he reached the rocks of the shore, he looked up, meeting several faces above them, from which one was the distressed woman. Her face was twisted in anguish.

A rope dropped from above. The man grabbed it with a firm grip and twirled it around his arm. In his other arm he was still holding the child. He set his foot against the slippery surface of the rocks, but the people already started to pull the rope. Slowly but surely he was pulled up to the shore.

As soon as he sat foot on the dry surface, the woman grabbed the child in his arms and hugged him tightly.

"Oh, my baby!" she cried.

Another man slapped against his back to make him cough up the water in his lungs.

The savior started to walk away, for he did it neither for glory nor praise.

"Wait!" One of the folk called.

The man halted and turned around. His wet clothes clung to his body. Little droplets from his cloth softly tapped the ground in a symmetric pace. His hood obscured most of his face.

"What you did was a brave thing," the man spoke. "Please, who are you?"

"I am just a man," he answered before he turned around and walked away. The sword at his hip dangled imminently. His walk was characterized by a confident, haughty stride.

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PS: Did you know drowning people do not splash and thrust around with their arms like in movies? I found that a truly interest fact. Lifeguard Frank Pia wrote a paper about it. You can google "Instinctive drowning response why you can't shout or" it if you're interested.

If you enjoyed it, please leave a review. If you have constructive criticism, I'd love to have them. Thanks for reading and hopefully see you later!


	2. Chapter 2

Part 2 of 2

He walked through the crowded streets of Damascus. Local guards were positioned at every turn. They kept a close eye on him. "Fell into the lake?" sneered one of them, but he was ignored.

The man in white was on his way to the bureau, hoping that they would have another set of clothes for him. The fabric of his clothes stuck uncomfortable to his skin. He shivered at the cold of the wetness.

Eyes of passengers were focused on him, curious about his business. _Why was he soaked? Why was his face hidden?_ He was used to the stares.

With his agility he easily climbed to the roof of the bureau. He strode inside with an air of confidence.

The Rafiq looked up from his work and smiled. How genuine that smile was, the other did not know. He didn't care either.

"Altaïr, my friend!" he was greeted.

"Peace be with you, Rafiq."

"Where have you been to present yourself like this?"

Altaïr walked up to the resting area. "Just a dive in the lake."

"Clothed?" The Rafiq laughed a loud laugh. "How much I envy you as a person, Altaïr, but diving clothed and armored is not a wise idea!" He studied the other in amusement. "However, since it's you, there must have been a good reason for you incredulous behavior."

The other's need to have a conversation struck Altaïr as a waste of time. Therefore he decided to ignore his words. "Do you have another set of clothes for me?" he inquired to get to the point quickly.

"Unfortunately I do not. Truly sorry about that." The Rafiq's facial expression showed anything but sorry. A slow grin formed on his face. He could not repress his pleasure.

Slight annoyance overcame the other man, but he shed the feeling quickly. He seated himself on the floor and watched the sky through the open roof. The sun was already setting. He untied his belt, loosened the clips on his gauntlets and pulled the drenched robe over his head. The hidden blade hit the floor with a sharp sound.

"What do you think you're doing?" The Rafiq leaned on his elbow and watched the other with a raised eyebrow.

"Is it not obvious?" Altaïr replied harshly. He twisted his clothes till no more droplets would come out of the fabric.

"No need to raise voices," the Rafiq immediately replied.

His mission was already done. He had no more reason to be in Damascus; tomorrow he would travel back to Masyaf.

A/N: This was so short, because I didn't know what more to write, lol. Nevertheless, hope you liked it as much as I enjoyed writing it. For more AC fic(let)s check out my account.


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